


and all this longing

by honeynoir (bracelets)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-04
Updated: 2011-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-08 14:57:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/444411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bracelets/pseuds/honeynoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the lake, when the deed is done, they’re both wearing suits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and all this longing

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings** : Alludes to drowning. Descriptions of character death.
> 
> Missing scene from TWoRS. Might be AU. Title from _What the Water Gave Me_ by Florence + the Machine.

i.

The suit, having fulfilled its task, allows her some control and she pushes the visor open, takes a breath; the air is thin and crisp and tinny. She’s standing in a pool of water on a metal grid.

Having been returned to the water, she had got by on whatever oxygen was left in the suit’s stores. She had watched as the distant surface grew more and more orange. Watched as her love sank and settled on the bottom, not a scratch on him.

She wrenches the helmet off. The gloves come off too, with ridiculous ease. The suit’s control is waning rapidly, and it’s getting desperately heavy.

She’s going to stop crying. Won’t start again until she’s survived whatever trial this is. She brings her cold, numb fingers to her cheeks, wipes away wetness and mascara.

Why had they thrown him in the lake? Why had her future self let them do that? She’d depleted the only power system she had control of, and let herself sink.

She’d touched him. She’d measured her desperate will against that of the suit, against the pressure of the water, and she’d forced the heavy glove to his cheek –

and she’d been on her knees inside… wherever she was.

She can hear only her own laboured breathing and the bangs and squelches of her boots on metal.

Whatever this place is, it shouldn’t be here. She expects Madame Kovarian. She expects the nameless, imageless fears that accompany the Madame.

Yet, now that she can take her own steps, she walks toward a flicker of hope.

 

ii.

She can feel that hope like a vestigial heartbeat, now. She abandons the winding corridors and enters what can only be a control room, if an empty one; but all that is secondary information, because there, right in front of her, is the TARDIS.

So they’d got their hands on it. Well, that didn’t matter; River was going to take it – _her_. The TARDIS feeds her soothing, enthusiastic pulses; the latter hardly seems appropriate, but River relaxes. She takes a moment to investigate the chairs and the consoles and the view screen. It’s some sort of underwater base. The lack of crew worries her, but she doesn’t dwell on that; not with salvation only a few feet away.

She approaches the screen, but it shows nothing but dark, still water. If she familiarises herself with the controls, she should be able to find his body. She reaches for a stick that hopefully is able to zoom –

“The Teselecta. Time-travelling shape-changing machine able to take on the appearance of anyone in the Universe, operated by miniaturised people. Remember?”

Her knees threaten to give in, but she grabs a hold of the console and is able to turn around rather elegantly, considering. “I don’t understand… Doctor…”

He’s in the doorway, in the shadows, in a Stetson. And he’s smiling.

She tears her gaze away from him momentarily, glances at the view screen. Realisation makes its way through her sluggish thoughts and seeps into her chest. “This is a robot.”

“Yes, it is. And it’s _dead_.”

She thinks she might be laughing.

He moves into the light, reaches toward her. “You need to get out of that suit.”

 

iii.

She’s finally stopped shaking, and the headache is getting better. She makes sure the towel around her head is secure, tightens the robe, curls her toes inside the enormous woollen socks.

The Doctor slips into a great cloak that smells like dust, and pulls up the hood. “Hand me Dorium.”

She snatches the box and places it in his fabric-covered hands.

At some point in the future, she would be in prison for his murder. But not today.  
They had a time machine, after all, and she’d deserved a bit of a breather. She doesn’t spare a thought for Kovarian; she’ll deal with all of that later.

“Behave, now, River. Will be back in a mo.”

“Oh, you’d better.” She leans against the TARDIS console and blows him a kiss.


End file.
